


Caregiver

by Juli



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3169304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/pseuds/Juli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sam gone to college, John and Dean have to learn a whole new dynamic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caregiver

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted January 2, 2007
> 
> I wrote this with Wincest in mind, but it's pretty hard to see. (Okay, you'll have to close one eye and squint with the other to see it.)

John Winchester was in a foul mood. Worry tended to do that to him and, since he’d been in a constant state of concern since seeing his wife die on a ceiling, he’d pretty much been in a bad mood for almost two decades. The past couple of days had given him even more to be anxious about and his mood had correspondently worsened.

His youngest, Sam, had left for college.

The angry words that had spilled out of John when Sam declared his intention had been about family and duty and the turning of backs. It was a lie; an instinctive smokescreen to cover his panic. His baby was going off to college — away from John’s protection. Sam would be on his own, with no loving family member to watch his back. Pride wouldn’t allow John to admit his fear, so he’d lashed out at Sam, cutting the boy to the bone verbally. When Dean had tried to intervene, John had handed his eldest his head on a platter. He’d known he was wrong even as he’d done it, but that hadn’t stopped him. 

The closest John could manage to an apology was to turn a blind eye as he saw Dean slip Sam money before taking his brother to the bus stop. By the time Dean got back, John was in bed, pretending to sleep. Three days later and he was still pretending. John acted like everything was all right, even though things were as far from all right as it was possible to get.

“Where is that boy?” John grumbled as he impatiently tapped his fingers against the Impala’s steering wheel. Dean had been in the gas station far too long for John’s liking. Waiting gave him too much time to think.

It was early in the morning and the two Winchesters were on their way home from a hunt. The job itself had been pretty straightforward, just an agitated spirit that needed to be sent on to its rest. Even so, it would have been better handled with three people instead of two and that realization did nothing to improve John’s mood. 

They’d needed to stop to get gas on the way back to the motel and John was impatient for Dean to finish paying so they could get back on the road. He wasn’t particularly worried about his son being caught with a fraudulent credit card, since he’d just given Dean one that hadn’t been used before. It was more likely that Dean was dawdling because of a pretty girl and, if that were the case, then there would be hell to pay.

Before John got mad enough to go in after Dean, his son came out. Dean’s characteristic swagger was hampered by a slight limp, the sight of it fueling John’s bad mood even more.

“What took you so long?” John demanded as soon as Dean had gingerly folded himself into the Impala’s passenger seat.

“They were putting out fresh breakfast sandwiches,” Dean explained, handing his father a bag. “You didn’t eat much last night, figured you were hungry.”

Surprise momentarily knocked the bad mood right out of John. “You did what?”

“I bought you breakfast,” Dean nodded at the bag. “Bon appetite.”

“We have supplies back at the motel, this was a waste of money,” John grumbled. He dug inside and grabbed a sandwich anyway. It couldn’t be taken back and hard experience had taught him not to waste food. “And while we’re on the subject of you messing up, I noticed you were limping.”

Dean shrugged and turned away to look out the window. “It’s nothing.”

“If you ever step between me and something we’re hunting again, you will be limping for an entirely different reason,” John said forcefully. “You’re not so big that I won’t put you over my knee.” He saw his son’s jaw clench, but Dean didn’t respond. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

The tone was entirely too sullen for John’s peace of mind, but he let it slide. After taking a big bite out of the egg sandwich, he revved up the Impala and drove out of the gas station.

The car was too quiet without the boys’ bickering, so John turned the radio on after only a few miles had gone by. He hated to admit it, but it was something of a relief not to argue over music. Dean had always been content with whatever John listened to, actually becoming more a fan of mullet rock than John had ever been. Sam, though, had been more adventuresome musically. His youngest had preferred introspective songs from artists who always sounded whiney to John’s ears. When it was Sam’s turn to pick what they listened to, John would stomach the sounds for as long as he could, but then insist on changing the station. Like most other things between him and Sam, that had led to arguing, although if Dean did the same thing, Sam would roll his eyes and fuss some, but pretty much let his older brother do what he wanted.

If he lived to be a hundred, John figured he’d never understand the bond between his sons.

At first the brothers had been like any other pair of siblings. Baby Sammy adored his older brother and, even as an infant, tried to mimic everything that Dean did. For his part, Dean seemed genuinely fond of his baby brother, although he could lose patience with sharing his parents once in a while. Mary’s death had forged the two’s relationship into something else, something much deeper. John could even pinpoint the moment it happened, namely when he’d placed the baby in Dean’s arms and ordered the four year-old to carry his brother to safety.

For eighteen years, John had counted on that fraternal bond. As the hunt drew more and more of John’s attention, Dean had stepped up to become Sam’s primary caregiver, eventually acting as a buffer between the two strong-willed Winchesters as Sam grew older and started questioning their father. For his part, Sam kept Dean grounded, gave the older brother something to care about that didn’t involve guns and blood or ogling women.

Something had changed in the last year, though. While the brothers had always been tight, they’d become impossibly closer. John suspected it had something to do with Sammy getting more mature. Not only did he top Dean by several inches by the time he’d left for college, but he’d become less of a little brother pest and more of a true companion for Dean. For whatever reason, the brothers started hanging out more together and Dean’s wild ways with women slowed to a practically a nonexistent trickle. For that, John was profoundly grateful. He didn’t begrudge Dean his fun, but John was not prepared to be a grandfather, something that had been sure to happen sooner or later if Dean couldn’t learn to keep it in his pants.

The reminiscing helped pass the time until the Impala reached the motel they were currently staying at, but did little dissipate John’s mood. Dean didn’t seem inclined to talk, so it was in silence that the two remaining Winchesters emptied their supplies from the car and made their way back to their room.

“Go take a shower before that hip stiffens up even more,” John ordered. He’d already checked his son out and knew the injury to be a simple, if deep, bruise. 

“I thought you might want to go first,” Dean replied with an attempt at a smile. “Age before beauty and all that crap.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion, hit the shower.” John didn’t rise to the bait. He slung his bag onto the bed closest to the door and immediately began digging out his books and newspapers. He noticed that his son hadn’t moved and looked up at Dean with a scowl. “What are you doing still standing there?”

Dean shrugged. “You really need to research more right now? I thought maybe breakfast first.”

“Somebody already bought me breakfast,” John reminded him. “Now, hop to it before you’re too sore to move. If that happens, don’t blame me if you have to run laps tonight to loosen things up. We’re short a man; we can’t afford for you to be less than 100 percent.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean’s shoulders slumped, but he obediently got his things gathered and headed for the bathroom.

John brought his research materials to the small table by the window. Before he sat down and started to read, however, he pulled the shades on the windows. Their work meant that the Winchesters tended to be night owls, but luckily one thing that even crappy motels usually had were good ways to block the sun. John did have a couple of leads he wanted to check out, but that was no reason that Dean couldn’t get some rest.

By the time Dean came out of the bathroom, John was deeply engrossed in his research. He barely grunted an acknowledgement when Dean told him the shower was available, simply waving his son off. In a vague sort of way, he was aware of Dean moving around the small room they shared, but it wasn’t until he’d shut his book that John realized that Dean had gone to bed. A quick glance showed that the tiny kitchenette was in the same pristine condition they’d left it in the night before and for the first time, John wondered if Dean had gotten himself breakfast at the gas station too.

Since Dean was asleep, John moved quietly as he grabbed his duffle and went into the bathroom. There was no lingering moistness in the air from Dean’s shower, so John figured he must have been researching for longer than he’d intended. With the efficiency of a former soldier, he stripped down and stepped into the warm spray, intent on getting clean as quickly as he could before heading to bed for some shuteye.

That was the plan, anyway. The shower, as with most things since Sam left, reminded him of his youngest son. Dean might be the hedonist in the family, but Sam was the one notorious for taking lingering showers. Dean teased him mercilessly about it, saying that it took longer for his brother to clean that overly tall body of his or that Sammy needed extra time to deal with all of that extra hair. Oddly enough, despite the teasing, Dean never argued about Sammy getting the shower first. It was just one of the numerous small ways Dean’d indulged his younger brother.

John had noticed Dean checking his cell phone repeatedly the last few days. His eldest son’s expression never gave anything away, but John was hoping that Sam would contact Dean when he reached California safely. Sam was mad at John, after all, and not his brother. At least, as far as John could tell, that was the case. Dean’s reaction to Sam’s announcement had been, for Dean, remarkably subdued and even in the depths of his fear-based anger, John had sensed Sam’s hurt at that. In spite of himself, John kept flashing back to that terrible argument. This time, however, his mind focused on facial expressions instead of the angry words that had been exchanged.

Damn. He’d missed it at the time.

Dean hadn’t been surprised at Sam’s announcement that he was leaving for college. Devastated, yes, that was clear from the look in his eyes, but not surprised.

John growled as the full realization hit. Dean had known. Oh, he maybe hadn’t known the details of what school or when, but he’d been aware of Sam’s plans to leave the family. Dean had been aware and done nothing to stop it. Come to think of it, given the wad of cash John had seen Dean hand off to his brother, his oldest had been preparing for it.

There had to be a reckoning for such deceit. Dean’s abetting Sam’s leave-taking cut deeper than Sam actually going had. All along, John had thought Dean was onboard with the mission to find the thing that had killed Mary and destroy it. Dean’s part was twofold — to be his father’s right hand and, above all else, to take care of Sam. In the latter, Dean had failed. Not only failed, but willfully disobeyed.

John rinsed and dried off with quick, decisive movements that were fueled by anger. Once he dressed, John threw open the door to the bathroom, intending to give Dean a piece of his mind and then some.

As the harsh light from the bathroom spilled into the rest of the small motel room, however, something stayed John. Dean was asleep on the bed, the bed he normally would have been sharing with Sam. Dean slept in his accustomed position on his stomach. One arm was wrapped underneath the pillow and the other was flung across the mattress into the spot where Sam should have been sleeping. Even in a sleep so deep that John’s abrupt entrance hadn’t woken him, Dean’s fingers twitched. It was although he was searching for the warmth of the brother that should have been there.

That reaching hand was the undoing of John’s anger.

In the depths of his own pain, John had ignored Dean’s. In his own defense, it was easy enough to do. Pain, either physical or emotional, was not something that Dean owned up to easily. He’d managed the same cocky grin after Sammy left as he’d worn before and remained the efficient hunter that John had come to rely on. If Dean had been a little quieter than he had been before Sam’s abrupt departure, well, John hadn’t been much better himself.

With newly opened eyes, though, John could also see the signs of Dean’s misery. In sleep, the emotions Dean worked so hard to bury while awake showed on his face. At the moment, there was a crease of worry on Dean’s forehead and, even deep asleep, he looked sad. Dean’s face also looked a little thinner and John figured his earlier guess about Dean not eating anything that morning had been correct. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember Dean eating much of anything since coming back from the bus station without his brother.

If Sam leaving was hard on John, then it stood to reason that it was even harder on Dean. Dean had been responsible for Sam for most of his life, so his fear for Sam’s safety had to be every bit as deep as John’s own. Not only that, but Sam was Dean’s primary companion. Sam had always complained about moving so much that it was impossible to make friends, but Dean had never bitched about it. He hadn’t needed to; not with Sammy to take up the slack. Now that Sam was gone, Dean had to be lonely in a way that John couldn’t even imagine.

The new revelation also put Dean’s recent behavior into perspective. With Sam gone, Dean had no one to take care of. That might sound silly to say of a man in his early twenties, but Dean had shouldered the responsibility of his brother for a long time. Without Sam to fuss over, he was clearly floundering and it explained his awkward attempts to mother hen John.

“Ah hell,” John muttered softly as he sat on the mattress opposite of where his son rested. “What have I done to you?”

Dean had known of Sam’s intent to leave and done nothing. Had helped his brother, even knowing that it would lead to heartache. John couldn’t help but comparing that to his own reaction and winced. Dean had loved Sam enough to let him go, whereas once John realized he couldn’t change Sam’s mind, he’d driven the youngster away.

In the end, which of them had done what was best for Sam?

John scrubbed at his face with his hands. He freely admitted that he was a stubborn son of a bitch, but he wasn’t stupid. What was done with Sam was done; the boy was too much like his father to come back until he had his diploma in hand - if then. John would have to do something unusual for him and that was to have patience, because there was nothing else he could do about it.

Dean, however, was a different story.

The signs of Sam’s restlessness had been there, but John hadn’t had the sense to see. He was determined that the same thing wouldn’t happen with Dean. If Dean needed someone to take care of, then John would accept the fussing without complaint. John was pretty sure that he couldn’t fill the hole that Sam had left in Dean’s life, but he could be less of a bastard and more of a father.

“We’ll get through this, buddy,” John whispered hoarsely. He got up and carefully pulled up the covers around Dean with a tenderness that probably would have freaked his son had Dean been awake. “I promise.”

For most of his life, Dean had been the caretaker of the Winchester family. It was about time that John returned the favor.

~the end~


End file.
